


On Managing Expectations

by yellowwarbler



Category: Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Dacryphilia, Dom Tim Drake, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, M/M, Pre-New 52, Sub Jason Todd, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28292025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowwarbler/pseuds/yellowwarbler
Summary: Tim can't stand an unanswered question.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd, implied Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 12
Kudos: 106
Collections: Batfam Kinkmas Exchange 2020





	On Managing Expectations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elareine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/gifts).



> Happy holidays Elareine! You had some great prompts. I hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> Thanks to [Shenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/Shenanigans) for beta reading!

The flight lands just before three in the morning, well past the scheduled arrival at ten. If Tim hadn't been on one of the Wayne Enterprises private jets, he would have had to sit for another half hour before being allowed to disembark and may we'll have been driven to violence. 

Across from him, Tam pockets her phone and stands. She stretches her arms over her head. Tim hears her back crack. "I could sleep for _days_ ," she groans. "Let's get off this godforsaken plane."

Tim smiles, a barely there quirk of his lips. "We have back to back meetings tomorrow. End of quarter reports wait for no one."

Tam shoots him a disgusted look and stomps down the aisle. Tim snickers.

He pulls his blazer back on and straightens his tie before following after her, glancing at his watch. If he goes directly to the office, he can just sleep until nine on the couch rather than wake up at seven for the commute. 

Tam is already off the plane and standing by the car by the time Tim starts down the airstairs. "Hurry it up," she calls.

Tim waves her on. "I need to make a stop. I've got another car waiting," he says, nodding at the chauffeur to get the door for Tam. "Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."

Tam narrows her eyes. "You'd better. And I expect that big brain of yours to be running at full capacity!" She jabs one manicured nail at Tim's chest. "You hear me?"

Holding up his hands in surrender, Tim laughs. "I will, I will! Never let it be said that Tam Fox doesn't actually run the show."

"Damn right," Tam says. She climbs in the car and the chauffeur closes the door before rounding the car to the driver's side.

Tim watches the car disappear from the runway out the private access road, then looks again at his watch. He taps the button at the side. "Send car."

"Sending car," the watch confirms in a pleasant tinny voice. A few minutes later the Redbird 2.0 drives up the runway and comes to a stop at Tim's side. It's a heavily modified red Lotus, Tim's pet project from the year before, and while Kon and the others give Tim no shortage of grief about his _weird car fixation_ , Tim figures he can do what he wants. 

He climbs in and sets the coordinates for the WE building, grabbing his communicator from the glove compartment and setting it for the open channel. It's late, and nothing in his news feed on the flight home suggested anything was amiss in Gotham. But the Gotham Times Twitter feed is no competition for nearly a decade of paranoia.

The channel, as suspected, is quiet. Tim spends most of the drive to the office answering emails until his comm frequency switches on its own to Oracle's private channel.

"Red Robin, come in."

Tim pits his phone on the passenger seat. "Red here. What's the situation?"

"I've got an emergency request from Red Hood. He's injured and out in the open. You should be able to reach him first. Sending coordinates your way."

The car's screen flickers. An abrupt right turn jerks Tim to the side, his seatbelt locking. He hears his phone fall between the seat and door. "I'm in civvies," Tim warns, trying to stretch for his phone.

"I've already put a blackout on the pick up area. Oracle out."

Tim gives up trying to reach his phone. He watches out the window for any sign of Red Hood, but even when the Redbird comes to a stop in an empty intersection, Hood is nowhere in sight.

It's been a while since Tim has seen Jason, about six months. Since Bruce's return from the timestream two years ago, Tim has had less and less involvement with Batman Incorporated, even as his influence over WE grew. Tim is nearly a solo vigilante, dividing his time between Gotham and the Titans as necessary. He'd heard through Kon, who heard it through Cassie, who somehow heard it from Damian, that Jason has been teaming up with Dick and Bruce more often. Tim hears them talking on the open channel sometimes. It isn't nearly as tense as they've been in the past.

Good for them.

A low groan echoes in the adjacent alley. Tim goes to take a look, catching a glimpse of feet sticking out from behind a dumpster. Enormous feet, clad in steel-toed black boots.

"You could have tried to be a little more visible," Tim points out, tone mild, as he approaches. He leaves a few feet between them.

Jason's mask is still on. He cranes his neck and looks up at Tim, who notes the way Jason clutches his side. His breathing looks labored. Cracked ribs, perhaps? 

"Can you get up?" The more time they spend out in the open, the greater chance someone will see Tim Drake-Wayne speaking to the notorious Red Hood. He can already imagine the media shit storm. 

"The fuck did they send you for," Jason growls, but he pulls himself up anyway, one hand braced on the dirty brick wall. 

"I live to serve," Tim says drily. "Come on, hurry up." He lets Jason walk unaided to the car, but he stays close behind him. Jason's breathing is labored still, and he inhales and exhales rapidly. Tim climbs in after Jason. "Do you need medical attention?"

Jason grunts. He isn't looking at Tim. The damn mask is inscrutable. Tim doesn't move the car.

Finally, Jason slumps. "Cracked ribs," he mutters. Then, much quieter, "Exposure to fear toxin, strain undetermined."

Great, just great. "I don't have any antidotes on me. I'll drop you off at the manor." Oracle knew Tim was just off the plane. Why the hell did she call Tim in for this?

"Not the manor," Jason demands. 

Tim takes a deep breath. "You need blood work done. You need an antidote. Where else will you have access to either?"

For a moment, Jason says nothing. His hands shake where they rest on his lap. Tim wonders how long ago he was dosed, if he's started hallucinating. He wonders when Jason will lash out.

"You've got a lab," Jason says.

"...I do." Tim drums his fingers on the steering wheel. Jason couldn't possibly expect Tim to bring him to the Nest.

"Your place," Jason says. "I'm not going to the Manor. Fuck that." He leans against the window, apparently done with the conversation. Tim can hear Jason trying to even out his breathing, employing some kind of meditative technique against the onslaught of terror, no doubt.

Tim sighs. This is going to be so much more trouble than he wants to deal with. He can _feel_ it. "I thought you were working them more now," he says. He needs to keep Jason grounded in reality, at least until he can get him to the lab. 

"Cases. I do some cases with them. Just work." He sounds like he's speaking through clenched teeth. 

That wasn't what Tim heard, but third hand gossip is hardly reliable. "Okay."

"You too," Jason says, apropos nothing.

Just another two minutes and they'll be at the Nest. "Me too, what?"

"You don't go there either."

Tim suddenly finds it difficult to look at Jason. "No," he says carefully. "I don't." He waits for more, but Jason is silent. He barely seems to be breathing. "Hood?"

Jason shakes his head--then his entire body starts to shake. Not a good sign.

The car pulls into the underground garage, the entrance sealing behind them. Tim wastes no time. He's out of the car and pulling Jason along with him to the concealed door that leads to the Nest, ignoring the way Jason seems unable to respond. He shoves him onto the hospital cot in the corner and goes to grab the blood kit.

When he comes back, Jason is standing up. His hands are opening and closing into fists, over and over. 

"Hood?" Tim tries, approaching with caution. "You still in there?"

Jason jerks his head in some approximation of a nod. He sits down on the cot again. 

It won't be long before he loses it. 

Tim sets the blood kit on the tray beside the cot and taps Jason's shoulder three times. Jason lays back. "I'm going to secure you," Tim says evenly, hands already pulling the restraints up and over Jason. "It's temporary. I'll do the blood work and get the antidote. I can't sedate you until I know what's in your system."

Jason starts shaking again, a full body tremor. It's unsettling. 

The restraints in place, Tim goes for Jason's helmet. Jason doesn't say a word while Tim disarms the traps below the chin and slides it off, but when his face is bared, he's staring right at Tim, his eyes glazed. Even with his mouth shut, Tim can see the way he's grinding his teeth, can hear the ear-splitting sound of bone scraping against bone.

Manfully repressing the urge to order Jason to _stop that at once_ , he grabs the blood kit and gets to work.

Jason never succumbs, not while Tim is drawing blood. It isn't until he's at the computer running the analysis against known fear toxin strains that Jason flips out. He cries out wordlessly, a piteous sound, like a frightened child. He thrashes against the restraints, begging incoherently, his eyes wide and unseeing. Even across the room, Tim can see the eerie green light spilling out over his blue eyes. If he wasn't pinned down, he'd be trying to kill Tim.

Tim turns back to the computer. Eighty three percent complete. "Hurry it up," he mutters. It's stiflingly hot in the Nest. Even after discarding his tie and blazer and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, Tim can feel the sweat gathering at his hairline and at the back of his neck. He kicks his shoes off and leaves them under the desk, tapping his fingers restlessly on the console. He really needs to get on that air circulation problem, but it somehow always lands at the bottom of the list.

"Analysis complete," the computer finally announces. "Match confirmed."

An antidote he actually has in stock! Will wonders never cease. Tim grabs the vial from his stocks along with a fast-acting sedative. The quicker he handles this, the sooner he can sleep.

Jason isn't faring any better than he was a few minutes ago. He's crying now, tears spilling down his face. He's clenching his jaw so hard he's probably cracked a tooth. Tim goes right for the arm he'd taken the blood sample from, shoving the sleeve up to Jason's shoulder and jabbing him: once for the antidote, again for the sedative. Jason shouts at the first puncture, a wordless expression of fear and rage.

Tim sets the used needles on the tray to be disposed of later. He looks down at Jason and waits. Jason looks right back at him, still trembling. Still afraid.

"You're fighting the sedative," Tim finally realizes. "Jesus. Of course you are." He rests his hand on Jason's forehead, brushing the shock of white hair back off his face. "Be still," he tells Jason, hoping the antidote works quick enough that Jason will be able to respond to commands. "Slow your breathing."

Jason listens. He doesn't stop that quiet crying, but his breathing begins to even out. His eyelids start to droop. Tim shushes him one last time, and Jason finally goes limp. His eyes shut. 

Tim waits a minute, then another. Jason doesn't rouse again, but the look on Jason's face, afraid and crying, is crystalized in Tim's mind. He feels a curl of something warm low in his belly and quickly squashes it. There will be time for that later, alone. 

His brain doesn't get the message and continues to run the image on a loop. He can't help but think about Jason tied down and crying in different circumstances…

So much for sleep. Tim grimaces at the realization that he can't leave until Jason wakes up which means he's stuck simmering in arousal until Jason finishes sweating the toxin out. He's going to have to call Tam and have her rearrange his meetings. She's going to kill him this time. He's sure of it.

"Whatever," Tim announces. He crosses the room and collapses onto the daybed he keeps in the Nest for nights when he can't drag himself upstairs. It'll keep. He's in charge. They can hardly hold the meeting without him.

+

Jason, predictably, is gone when Tim wakes up. He cleaned up after himself, too, so Tim's willing to call this one a win.

He shoots a quick text to Tam that he'll be in around lunch, then takes the elevator to the main floor. Tam responds immediately with the poop emoji. That's fair.

Stripping out of his suit, Tim dumps it all in the hamper before going straight to the shower. He feels gross, between the plane ride and sleeping drenched in his own sweat. The hot water is amazing. 

Jason's face, wet with tears, flashes across Tim's mind.

Tim closes his eyes. It can't hurt. He needs to unwind. No one will know. It's just how _unexpected_ it was, an expression like that on someone like Jason's face. Crying and afraid, trapped in restraints. All of Jason's skills and strength, and he was completely at Tim's mercy.

Tim scrubs the shampoo into his hair and turns his back on the stream. Jason looked _so good_ like that. Nearly too long for the medical cot, the sheer width of his shoulders dwarfing the thin mattress. All of that power, and he still needed Tim. He would have begged Tim to take him back with him if Tim had held out a little longer. 

Sighing, Tim runs his hand down his chest and gives his cock a gentle squeeze, thumbing the head. Jason looked like he was begging Tim. He looked like he thought Tim might hurt him. Tim would never, of course, but in different circumstances… If Jason _wanted_ Tim to hurt him…

Well, who can say no to that?

Jason would cry. Tim imagines grabbing him by the hair, pulling it taut. He'd make Jason look at him. 

_Open your mouth, you stupid slut_ , he would say, and Jason would obey. Mouth open, tongue out. He'd whine and cry, but he wouldn't fight Tim when he feeds his cock into Jason's mouth and fucks his throat. He fucks his face until Jason is gagging, choking on his cock. He pulls out and comes across Jason's face. Jason would forget to thank Tim, a grave oversight, and Tim would slap him so hard he'd sob and cringe away even as screamed his thanks--

With a stifled groan, Tim comes, spilling across the shower wall. It feels so good Tim's knees buckle and he has to throw a hand out to brace himself against the wall.

He stands under spray and waits a beat for his breathing to slow. It's just a thought, just something for himself. He'll probably continue seeing Jason only in passing every few months. By the time that happens, he'll have no problem looking Jason in the eye.

If he needs more than a passing fantasy, Tim knows a place.

+

When his office door is opened without a warning knock, Tim doesn't bother to look up. "I already got the updated schedule, Tam. I really don't need the handholding."

"That wasn't my plan, but I'll keep it in mind."

Tim's head shoots up. "Bruce?" 

Bruce takes a seat across the desk. "It's good to see you, Tim. You haven't come to the Manor in weeks."

Months, actually, and he'd only come to the Cave. Tim is hard pressed to remember the last time he'd actually been to the Manor in a civilian capacity. "You know how it is," Tim says, leaning back and forcing his face neutral. "Work keeps me busy. What can I help you with?"

Bruce's face does something complicated, his eyebrows dipping together, but his expression smooths out just as quickly. "I heard about what happened last night." Read as: _Oracle sent me the blow-by-blow_.

"I handled it." Where is this going? Tim's mind scrambles for the last time he and Bruce were alone together like this. 

"I wanted to thank you. Jason… he's not well."

"Fear toxin has that effect on people," Tim says dismissively, but Bruce shakes his head.

"Mentally," he clarifies. "Dick and I are doing what we can, but the Pit Madness… Nothing seems to help. When I heard what happened, I assumed the worst."

 _He seemed fine to me_ is on the tip of Tim's tongue, but instinct shuts his mouth. Bruce and Dick weren't on the streets last night. Oracle could have called them. Instead, she called Tim, the one vigilante who was completely unarmed.

Interesting.

"Well that's what happens when you assume," is what comes out of Tim's mouth instead. What the hell is wrong with him?

From the look on Bruce's face, he's wondering the same. "Nevertheless," Bruce plows on, "we appreciate any help with him. If he starts seeking you out, keep me updated. It's important to make sure we present a united front for him."

 _Huh_. Tim doesn't like the sound of that. Bruce might say 'a united front', but he really means he expects Tim and everyone else to fall in line behind him without getting any of the details. "I'll keep you updated," he lies through his teeth. "I'm actually on my way to a meeting--"

"Of course," Bruce cuts him off smoothly, climbing to his feet. "It was good talking to you, Tim. Come by the Manor soon. We all miss you," he says as he leaves. Bruce always did like to have the last word.

Tim puts The-Jason-Thing in a box for the remainder of the day, a mystery to be explored at a more opportune moment. It's a difficult itch to ignore. Tim can't stand an unsolved mystery, inquiring minds and all that, so the moment the work day ends, he's out the door and slipping his comm back in his ear.

"It's early in the day for you to be calling," Oracle greets him. "And on a private line, to boot. What's going on, Red?"

Tim sets the autodrive to the Nest and focuses his attention on the conversation. "It's about last night."

"I was given to understand Red Hood recovered and went on his way." Meaning she knows exactly when, where, and why, and she doesn't need any more details.

"He did," Tim confirms. "But I'm more interested in why I was the designated pickup. B and N were unavailable?"

The line remains silent for a beat. Then, "He requested you," Oracle says. 

Jason _requested_ Tim? Tim, who he still couldn't look at without boiling in anger? Who he professed to despise from the moment Jason learned of his existence? "I see," Tim says, even though he doesn't, not in the slightest. 

"He implied this was a prearranged deal." Now Oracle sounds suspicious. 

"It is." Tim decides to roll with it. "But we've only discussed it in situations where the others were occupied. I was worried." 

"He must trust you," Oracle says, unconvinced.

"Red out." Time to kill this conversation before Tim implicates himself in… something. 

He switches the channel and makes a different call. "Lonnie, filter all incoming calls. Keep Oracle out of my systems."

"With pleasure," Lonnie's simulated voice returns. "I don't suppose you're interested in what she was up to last night?"

Tim, interested? Always. "Lay it on me."

"I spent all night keeping her out of the Nest's security system. She wanted to see what you were up to while your guest was there. You're welcome, by the way."

Tim is beginning to wonder if the whole thing wasn't a setup. But for what? "She called me in on that. What was she expecting?" Lonnie says nothing, presumably distracted keeping Tim's systems intruder-free, and Tim's mind is free to speculate. Why did Jason request Tim? Why did Oracle allow it? Why did Bruce approach Tim? He half expects Dick to be standing at his door when he gets home.

Bruce wants Tim to report information about Jason to him. Jason doesn't want to go to the Manor. Oracle is keeping tabs on Jason--for Bruce or for another reason? 

There is a simple solution here, Tim realizes. Trouble is, down that road lies a face to face conversation with Jason. Tim is _so_ not prepared for that.

But the issue remains: something odd is going on between Jason and the Bats, and Jason has, knowingly or not, dragged Tim into it. 

What an asshole.

+

Tim can't avoid talking to Jason.

He's fully willing to commit to an extra ten steps to solve his current predicament _not_ to talk to Jason, but it's just not in the cards.

Bruce has stopped by his office three times in the past week. 

So on Friday, Tim skips work altogether. He sleeps in and spends the late morning reviewing his file on Jason. He's got a pretty good idea where he's staying in Gotham. CCTV and Lonnie seem to be in agreement. Tim spends a few hours watching Jason move through the city. He seems awfully stable for someone who's _mentally unwell_ , not to mention productive. Jason has a finger in every pie going in Crime Alley, whether anyone wants him involved or not. It's impressive even when it's getting in Tim's way.

When Jason makes his way to an apartment just at the edge of his territory, Tim waits fifteen minutes to see if he leaves. When he doesn't, he sends Lonnie the coordinates and a message to warn him if Jason leaves. Then he goes there himself. For kicks, he takes one of his civilian motorcycles.

He's never purposely sought Jason out, not that he can remember. Tim's life has always been on the peripheral of Batman's activities, circling him and Dick and later Jason before finally throwing himself head first into the whole mess. Following Jason feels like stepping back into those early years when just the thought of catching sight of Robin was enough to keep Tim going. 

He's not a child anymore; Jason isn't an urban legend. 

Jason's also not especially pleased to see Tim when he opens the door.

"You weren't invited," Jason says flatly. He doesn't shut the door in his face, though, which Tim counts as a win.

"I need information," Tim says. It's not technically a lie.

Jason narrows his eyes. Then he steps back and holds the door open. "Hurry up."

Tim steps inside and lets Jason close and lock the door behind him. The apartment isn't the shithole he expected, and Tim finds himself feeling guilty for having had expectations at all. He doesn't _know_ Jason, not really. 

"Get on with it," Jason says, brushing past Tim to collapse onto the sofa. The television is on some black and white film, the volume low enough that Tim can't pick up more than a murmur.

"You're okay," Tim says. "Which is good." Shit. Wrong. Not where he planned to go with this _at all_.

He's still standing by the door. The apartment isn't that big, but the space between them feels awkward. Tim doesn't know exactly how to broach the subject. 

Jason crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes.

Best just get it out and face the consequences. "Why did you tell Oracle we have a standing arrangement?"

Jason looks away. "I should've expected you would follow up on that."

Yes, he should have. "Bruce knows. He's been after me all week."

 _That_ got Jason's attention. His shoulders go stiff. He doesn't look at Tim, not exactly. He keeps his gaze somewhere just beyond Tim's shoulder. "You reported it to him." His voice comes out flat.

"I don't report to him," Tim says. He hopes he's imagining the way Jason's hands are shaking. "But Oracle must have felt the need to share. I don't appreciate getting caught up in whatever the hell is going on between you and the Bats."

"So you _don't_ consider yourself part of them," Jason mutters. His body loses some of the tension, and he leans forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. 

"Where I stand with Bruce is irrelevant. You're the one with the complications here."

"Not my problem--" Jason starts, but Tim cuts him off.

"I did you a favor. Enlighten me as to why, or next time you can stick with Bruce." Tim should know better, but his own anger gets the best of him.

Jason is on his feet and across the room in what seems like seconds. Tim barely manages to evade the fist aimed squarely at his face. He hears the wall splinter beneath the force of it, but Tim's attention remains on Jason, on the sudden startling green of his eyes.

"I don't owe you shit!" Jason shouts. 

Tim ducks to the side and keeps his guard up. "I didn't come here to fight--"

"No, you came here like you own the place, demanding shit you've got no right to! I told you, B--"

Tim hears the slip before Jason realizes what he said. _Time to get out._

He suddenly has no problem remembering why he avoids Jason.

Jason lunges for him, and they hit the ground. Tim slams his head forward into Jason's and flips them. He's off of Jason and heading for the window, but Jason sweeps his legs out from under him. Tim catches himself on the wall, but he's barely turned around when a hand grips his throat and slams him back into the wall.

Tim goes limp, watching Jason carefully. He needs to get Jason off of him--and then he needs to knock his ass out. Jason isn't choking him. He's holding Tim in place, panting harshly. Tim wonders if he knows where he is or who he's with.

"You're just like him," Jason hisses. His grip tightens for a split second, then relaxes. "I don't need you! I don't want anything to do with you!"

"Believe me," Tim wheezes, "the feeling is mutual." He forces himself to stay lax. 

"I'm not going back to the manor."

He's slipping, Tim realizes. Is this what Bruce meant? The notes in his file say Jason 'loses touch with reality under certain stressors'. So who's the stressor here? Tim or Bruce?

"Good," Tim has to play this carefully. "I don't want you back in the manor."

Jason's grip goes slack. "I knew it," he mutters. Then he's shouting again. "Fucking--hit me!" Jason sounds desperate now, unhinged. His grip around Tim's throat flexes. "Do it!"

Tim isn't sure if he chose the right words or not. But Jason's grip is slipping. He looks--Tim can barely describe it. But the situation doesn't _feel_ dangerous, not anymore.

Then it clicks: Jason isn't talking to Tim at all.

It's kind of pitiful, really. Tim wraps Jason's wrist with his knuckles. "Hands off first."

Jason's eyes don't lose their green tinge, but he complies. "I know you want to," he tries to goad _whoever_ he thinks he's speaking to. "You've always--"

"Shut up," Tim says dismissively. "This is pathetic, Jason. _You're_ pathetic."

The color bleeds from Jason's face. He curls inward like Tim actually struck him. But there's something else too, a light in his eyes. His mouth drops open--surprise, perhaps. Wanting. Jason is a complicated blend of terror and anger and longing. Tim remembers the way he settled down for him back in the Nest, how easily he complied. 

Tim wants to see how far that compliance goes.

He wants to hurt Jason and then put him back together, to see him crying again. He wants to see Jason crawl like a dog for him, to look up at Tim like he's Jason's everything, to know it's _Tim_ he's speaking to, not some ghost from Jason's past.

Tim reaches out. Jason watches his approaching hand like a cornered animal, and Tim knows this could go sideways in a matter of seconds. But when he cups Jason's face and smooths his thumb over the prominent line of cheek bone, Jason doesn't so much as flinch. The green in his eyes recedes.

"Aren't you?" Tim presses, and Jason nods, dazed.

Tim knows he can keep pushing. His hand slides down to grip Jason's jaw. With a careful application of pressure, he could get Jason on his knees. Whatever this is, Jason is primed to respond. He looks like he _wants_ to be on his knees.

Tim steps away.

Jason sways toward him for a moment before catching himself. The change is immediate. His eyes lose their glazed over look, and the soft curve of his lips shifts into a thin line. 

"I don't think you really want this," Tim says after a beat. "Not with me." Tim hates to turn Jason away, but he's not sure _what_ he actually thinks. Where is this even coming from? It's like this Jason just stepped out of his wildest fantasies. Too good to be true.

"I always knew you were a coward," Jason snarls. He's out the window before Tim can formulate a response.

Tim can hear the rattle of the fire escape, followed by Jason dropping to the ground. When he finally unfreezes and approaches the window, he sees Jason taking off down the road.

On Tim's goddamn bike.

"Fucker," Tim swears. He grasps the ledge and leans out just enough to follow the shrinking shape of Jason tearing down the street until he vanishes from sight.

He could just shut the engine off remotely, but as long as Jason has the bike, Tim can keep tabs on Jason. 

Maybe this didn't go poorly after all.

+

He just needs something to take the edge off. This thing with Jason is unsettling. Tim went _months_ without thinking about Jason. Now he's getting off to that asshole's crying face every day.

So, Tim falls back into a well-used persona and discretely books a session for G. Williams with a club submissive at Labyrinth. He doesn't care who they are or what they look like. He just needs to put someone down.

That the sub he chooses is about six inches taller than Tim and built like a linebacker doesn't mean anything. _Really._

He goes harder than he usually does. He orders the sub down on his knees and doesn't realize until the words are out of his mouth that he's called the sub Jason.

Tim's hands clench in the man's hair. It doesn't matter. He's paying for his time. He can call him whatever he wants.

It isn't until after, when he's rubbing a salve over the lashes across the other man's back that he realizes the red light on the surveillance camera is lit up.

"Do you need anything else?" Tim asks, looking away from the camera. He'll have to investigate that sooner rather than later.

The man is sitting on a bench pressed against the far wall. His eyes still have a glaze over them, as though he hasn't quite come back up yet, but he's aware enough to know Tim is doing a very half-assed job of providing after care. "I'm fine," the man says, the first time he's actually spoken since they started. 

Tim's glad he didn't speak. His voice is a touch too low. It would have shattered the illusion of beating Jason with his belt.

He excuses himself and leaves the room, opening the door and immediately running into the attendant waiting outside. Tim brushes past them and keeps going. 

The layout of the club is simple: four floors with the lobby and all administrative rooms on the first floor. Any security or kept footage would be located there. If someone had put together that G. Williams is actually Tim Drake-Wayne, they could make a lot of money with that footage. 

Not to mention the headache Tim would get out of a scandal like that.

Tim takes the stairs down to the first floor and is just about to request Lonnie wipe the footage when Jason comes walking out from behind the front desk. He isn't trying to avoid Tim. He makes eye contact across the lobby and pauses, just for a second. Then the door opens a group of five walks in, cutting across the room between them. When they're gone, so is Jason.

"What the fuck," Tim whispers. What is _happening_?

Jason was, what… watching Tim get off on beating another man? Was _Jason_ getting off on it? 

Too many questions. Not enough answers.

And it only gets stranger from there.

Tim leaves and goes straight to the Nest. "Did you wipe the tapes?" He asks aftering activating his private comm.

"I did," Lonnie confirms. "Your sexcapades are safe with me."

"I need more data. Search CCTV going back….six weeks. Sending specific locations now."

"And what am I looking for?"

"Red Hood," Tim says. "Any time he was in the same location I was."

Lonnie signs off and leaves Tim to himself. 

Jason never did make sense to Tim, but he needed to. Jason was always at a distance, separate from Tim by at least two degrees. Now he's everywhere.

Tim wants to know why.

+

"You're going to need to run that by me again."

"I can't be much clearer," Lonnie's simulated voice points out. "Every time you went to Labyrinth in the last six weeks, he was there. He's been spotted in your usual patrol route regularly. The data doesn't lie."

"So he's…stalking me." Interesting. "Why?"

"Not my circus," Lonnie says. "Sorry."

Tim rolls his eyes and spins his chair away from the monitor. Jason's been watching Tim. It's bizarrely flattering.

Specifically, though, he's been watching Tim fuck people. Watching him hurt them. Flattering isn't quite the word he'd use for that. 

He's not sure how to label it.

Deciding to chalk it up to one of Jason's many mysteries, Tim turns back to the monitor and pulls up the GPS signal for his bike. Jason is using it, driving somewhere down by the docks. Tim still can't quite believe he didn't try to disable the signal. It's not exactly difficult, not for someone with Jason's training. 

Conclusion: Jason wants Tim to know where he is.

"Interesting," Tim murmurs. 

Then he takes out his phone and types a message. 

_When you're done doing whatever you're doing by the docks, come see me._

He'd had to get Lonnie to find Jason's current number. Texting him from his civilian phone doesn't feel like a terribly smart move, but he wants Jason to come to him as Tim, not as Red Robin. To his home, not to the Nest.

It's anyone's bet if he actually shows up or not.

And for a while, Jason doesn't. Two days pass before Tim's GPS alerts him that his bike has arrived back on his street. He dumps the food he's been picking at into the trash and calmly washes his hands. When three heavy knocks sound on the door, Tim doesn't need his security system to tell who's standing on the other side.

"You rang," Jason says when he opens the door.

Tim holds it open and steps aside. "I did. Come in."

"You've been tracking me," Jason accuses when Tim shuts the door behind him. 

"I have," Tim agrees. "And you've been watching me."

Jason doesn't deny it. "You've got some interesting hobbies."

Tim wishes he wasn't so surprised Jason actually showed up. He knows he expected it, logically anyway, but seeing Jason in the flesh, standing in the middle of his living room, still unsettles Tim. "Only interesting to a specific type of person." 

Jason looks away first. "Maybe."

No maybe about it. Tim closes the distance between them but keeps his hands to himself. "You must have really liked what you saw. Did you get off on it?" Tim's eyes track the bobbing of Jason's throat as he swallows. "Did you wish it was you I was hurting?"

Jason closes his eyes. He's breathing hard now. Tim doesn't speak again, letting the silent anticipation hang between them. He knows the value of patience.

"Yes," Jason finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks defeated. "I did."

Tim doesn't need any further reassurance. Jason came to _him_. Jason's been following _him_. Not Bruce. _Tim_.

Tim cups Jason's face and then brushes his hair behind his ears. "I can do that for you. If you want."

Jason's mouth drops open, the pink sheen of his full lower lip catching Tim's eye. He nods.

Tim steps away. He looks at Jason, then to the ground at his feet. When Jason drops to his knees with a thud, Tim can't help but be a little impressed by the speed of the change. Jason can go from raging to subdued in a matter of seconds. He can't help but wonder who brought this out in Jason.

And then Jason nuzzles Tim's crotch, bringing his thoughts to a screeching halt.

"You look better like this," comes out of Tim's mouth before he thinks about it. He rests a hand on Jason's hair, stroking for a moment before tightening his grip. He watches Jason's eyes flutter shut with a thrill of satisfaction.

Pulling the button of his pants open and drawing down his zip, Tim pulls out his cock with his free hand, keeping his grip on Jason's hair. Jason's mouth is open, his eyes heavy lidded. Tim could fuck right into his mouth, and Jason would just take it. He'd probably take anything Tim threw at him and be grateful for it.

Tim squeezes his cock. He needs to cool down. He feels like a teenager again, so revved he's liable to blow at any moment. Jason does that to him. 

"Fuck, keep your mouth open," Tim says, releasing Jason's hair to grip his jaw. "Hands behind your back."

Again, Jason complies. Tim feeds him his cock and watches the length of it disappear into Jason's mouth with something akin to wonder. He keeps pushing until he hits the back of Jason's throat--and then keeps going.

Jason sucks in a harsh breath through his nose. Tim feels him go rigid, but he doesn't move, doesn't back off. 

Tim wants him to choke. He wants Jason to panic and thrash, to know Tim has full control over every aspect of him.

He can't remember the last time he got hard so fast.

Jason works his tongue against the underside of Tim's cock as best as he can, but Tim draws back and fucks in again, sending him lurching forward, unsteady. Then again and again and again.

He gets his hand back in Jason's hair and _pulls_ , just to see the way it makes Jason's eyes water. 

"Look at me," Tim grits out.

Jason looks up. There's not a hint of green in his eyes. Tim pulls out and strokes himself off, one hand gripping Jason's hair. He curls inward as the pleasure mounts. Jason's eyes are tearing up, fat drops welling at the corners of his eyes. Tim groans, his come splattering across Jason's face.

Then he backhands Jason, hard, and watches him hit the floor.

"This is definitely a better view." Tim rubs the back of his hand. He hadn't held back. "You should always be on the ground, Jason."

Jason sits up, bracing himself with hands out behind him. He looks up at Tim. _Up_ at him. Like Tim's the one in control. 

_I_ am _in control_ , Tim reminds himself. He's standing. And Jason? Jason is exactly where he wants to be.

"Don't you have something to say to me?" Tim asks.

Jason, panting open mouthed, tilts his head. That shock of white hair falls across his eyes. His brows furrow and then his expression smooths over. No trepidation. Only anticipation. 

"Thank you," Jason says. His eyes are still watery. Still fully present.

"Well done, Jason," Tim says, still looking down at him, and Jason swoons toward him at the praise for the briefest of moments before he catches himself. Then he looks down at Tim's feet.

Tim wants _so_ much. 

He nudges his foot between Jason's legs, pressing the flat sole into the crux of Jason's thighs. He feels how hard Jason is. "That must hurt," Tim says, pulling his foot away. "Get your cock out."

Jason nearly rips his belt open in his haste to get his pants open. He gets his cock out and starts stroking.

"Did I tell you to do that?" Tim snaps. 

Jason jolts. Then he lets himself go and looks up at Tim. He's wide-eyed, not quite afraid, but something close. 

"You ask," Tim tells him condescendingly. "Permission, Jason. Do you think that belongs to you?" He nudges Jason's cock with the toe of his boot. Jason shakes his head. "Say it "

"It's not mine," Jason says, dazed. 

"And whose is it?"

There's a noticeable pause before Jason can gather his thoughts long enough to say, "Yours." He licks his lip. 

"That's right. Mine. I don't want your hands touching it." He walks past Jason and into the bedroom. "Follow me."

Jason, wisely, chooses to crawl.

It's fascinating how in tune Jason is with what Tim wants, what he expects. But then, he's been watching Tim for weeks now. Studying him. 

Time well spent, as far as Tim's concerned.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and waits for Jason to crawl in. He's left his pants shucked down around his thighs, his cock jutting out, hard and an angry red. 

Tim pats his thigh and waits for Jason to shuffle across the floor toward him. "That must be uncomfortable." He leans down enough to grip Jason's cock and stroke it a few times, spreading the wetness from the head of it downward. "Do you want to come?"

Jason looks up at him imploringly. " _Please_ ," he groans. "Tim, fuck--let me--I need--" His face is still red where Tim hit him.

Tim pushes his leg out. "Go ahead then. Get yourself off."

It takes a moment for Jason to catch on. He looks from Tim's leg to Tim's face. He looks--not afraid. Worried? It's difficult to parse the emotions flicking across Jason's face. Then all at once, he curls around Tim's leg, resting his forehead on Tim's thigh. He grinds his cock against Tim's leg, starting slow and building up to a furious pace. "Please," he's muttering, whimpering. 

Tim strokes his hair again, hands gentle like they haven't been since this began. "You needed it bad, didn't you? You're dripping wet, Jason, a complete mess."

He hears Jason apologize, the word spoken as a heated breath against Tim's thigh.

"Don't apologize. You can't help it. You're a slut, Jason. You _need_ this."

Jason comes with a sob, spilling on Tim's leg. He's crying openly now, soaking through Tim's pants. 

Tim leans down and grabs him, tugging Jason onto the bed and into his arms. Jason goes stiff at first, then all but melts into Tim's arms. 

Tim's baffled that Jason went this far, that he let Tim have this. He wants it again, wants more of it. He wants to monopolize Jason's attention. 

He wants Jason to want that too.

They lay there for what feels like hours. Eventually, Jason's breathing levels out. 

And then, of course, the goddamn phone rings.

Tim scrambles to get it out of his pocket without waking Jason. He answers without looking and immediately regrets it.

"Tim," Bruce says. "You didn't answer your comm."

"I'm not in the field." Keep it short and simple. With Bruce, less information is always better.

"Reports indicate Red Hood is in your area."

Shit. Fuck. Of course Bruce would choose now of all times to pay attention to Tim. "I'm at home. I doubt he's anywhere near me."

Bruce hums. He doesn't sound convinced. "If I know more, I'll let you know." He hangs up. 

He'll let Tim know? Let him know _what_? Tim sets his phone on the bedside table gently, but he feels Jason shift.

"You lied."

"I figured you didn't want him here anymore than I do," Tim points out.

Jason rolls over, out of Tim's arms. "Why do his dirty work if you don't trust him?"

"I don't think of it that way," Tim admits. "This--all of it-- it's not about Bruce. The mission is so much bigger than one person."

"The mission?" Jason echoes, incredulous. "Don't tell me you believe the bullshit he spouts."

"Saving people isn't bullshit. It's our responsibility."

"You really are just like him." The way Jason says it, Tim knows it's not meant to be a flattering comparison.

But still. "Maybe I am," Tim allows. He watches frustration play across Jason's face. "But isn't that why you sought me out in the first place?" 

Jason goes pale, then anger flushes the color back into his face. "Fuck you," he spits. He scrambles off the bed, tucking his cock back into his jeans and buttoning them up. 

Tim watches him, the way anger bleeds into every movement. The subdued man from earlier in the evening is gone. But Tim still doesn't see a hint of the Pit in Jason.

He's walking out of the bedroom when Tim calls after him. "I'm not, though."

Jason stops in the doorway. He doesn't turn around. "Not _what_?"

"Bruce."

For a long moment, Jason doesn't move. He doesn't say anything. Then, "No." It's quiet, nearly a whisper. "You're not." He looks over his shoulder at Tim, wary. Then the moment is gone. Jason leaves.

Tim doesn't move at first. He hears Jason let himself out. Then he grabs his phone and turns on the tracker for his bike. It starts moving a minute or so later, the blinking dot traveling toward Crime Alley. He smiles.

Jason remains a jumble of _too many questions, not enough answers_. But he still took the bike. 

Tim is pretty sure that knocks at least one question off the list.


End file.
